HENRY CAPPS

 

My cowboy poetry is based on factual quarter horses.  "P-234 (is still the King)," was first published in the Foundation Quarter Horse Registry, which is located in Sterling, CO.

P-234 (is still the King)
by
William H. Capps
© The Capps Company ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 1998

 

Leo came from Cameron

Wimpy’s number in one

Both have earned the right to be called

A Texas favorite son

Time has shown their greatness

As their praises we still sing

But when you ride Southwest Texas

P-234 is still the King.

 

From the Palo Duro Canyon

To the Diablo Plateau

Across the rolling hills of Austin

To the streets of El Paso

Just ask any hand, he’ll tell you

Whether he’s weathered or he’s green

When you ride in Southwest Texas

P-234 is still the King.

 

He is as much a part of Texas

As cowtowns or rodeos

Longhorns or coyotes

Or the fabled Yellow Rose

Just ask any hand, he’ll tell you

Whether he’s weathered or he’s green

Ain’t no two ways about it, hoss

P-234 is still the King.

 

There’re Midnights and Gray Badgers

Waggoner’s Rainy Day

Old Joe Blair, Old Joe Bailey

Uncle Jimmy Grey

There’re Rondos, there’re Tontos

The Hank, the Gal, the Gill

Question Mark, Clabber

Ben Hur, Ed Echols and Chicaro Bill.

 

These were no mere horses

They wore lightning in their hide

They scorched the southwest winds

With their each and every stride.

 

Oklahoma Star, Cowboy, Beggar Boy

Nick Shoemaker, Amigo Brown

Can’t forget Raffles, Bartender, Joe Hancock

These are the jewels, but not the crown

Just ask anyone who saw him

Run the stable in Abilene

They’ll tell you without blinking

Hoss, P-234 is still the King.

He is as much a part of Texas

as black gold or dosey-dos

Poco Bueno, Pine Johnson

Jesse James or Matlock Rose

Just ask any hand, he’ll tell you

Whether he’s weathered or he’s green

When you ride in Southwest Texas

P-234 is still the King.

 

Squaw H., his running daughter

Was speed and beauty on the track

King’s Pistol was pure poetry

With Jim Calhoun sitting on his back

That princely son “Ole Pokey”

Started his own dynasty

As did Power Command, Royal King

Two more splendid branches

From his splendid tree.

 

Now I know there are those among us

Who say he was “all right for his time”

Then they’ll proceed to “blah, blah, blah”

About this old stud of mine

My temperature starts rising

Like a radiator on an old burned-out V-Eight

I slowly ball my fists

So I can properly oil that squeaking gate.

 

But ever since I “oiled” that one in Amarillo

The judge told me “to learn to count to ten”

Because I was going to learn to count to ninety

If I ever “oiled” one again

So I just tip my hat politely

The make my way back to the ring’

And watch one of his great-grand-get-prove

That P-234 is still the King.

 

He is as much a part of Texas

As Bluebonnets or Armadillos

Ernest Tubb’s “Walking the Floor”

Or the Playboys’ “San Antonio Rose”

Just ask any hand, he’ll tell you

That he’s dead certain of two things

One is that bourbon still goes with branchwater

And P-234 is still the King.